


Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo

by rissalf



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: (yes even as a doll), Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Multi, Orgy, Sex Doll, dennis is a bastard man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 07:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15925511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rissalf/pseuds/rissalf
Summary: Dee watches the most disgusting orgy in history unfold in her living room. Set during s13x1.





	Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo

**Author's Note:**

> Nobody needed this, but somebody had to. I’ll see myself out. :x

This was not how her life was supposed to go.

When Dee was younger, she knew that by this point in her life, when she’s pushing 30… ish and mega successful, she'd be living in LA in a 20-million dollar mansion that she'd sniped from some snotty young actress, with a rich husband on her arm and a boy toy on the side. (Not a pool boy though; that's so played out. But like an upscale boy toy. Maybe she'd take up tennis. Those guys are always hot and fit.) She'd be far, far away from Philly and Paddy's, and the assholes she used to call friends, and far away from the shit stain that was her old life as the Aluminum Monster. It was gonna be fucking amazing, and classy, and so goddamn satisfying. Everywhere she’d go, there’d be applause and an endless line of sad fucks looking for autographs and selfies. She’d put in her time and oblige a few of the boners, then jet off for a pedicure and whatever else she felt like doing with her motherfucking #blessed life.

Caviar and champagne, bitches. Suck my dick.

“Oww, goddammit, Frank! Slow down, you’re gonna ruin this for me.”

But playing out vaguely in front of her is a whole different sort of reality. One might call it a nightmare, but for Dee it just barely colors outside the lines of a typical Friday night.

Mac is on all fours in her living room, completely naked (which admittedly is the least gross thing happening, somehow), gritting his teeth as his ass gets pounded by the rubber likeness of her absent brother. Or rather, it’s Frank plowing the Dennis doppelganger, each savage thrust serving only to impale Mac further, and apparently neither one of them is capable of being goddamn quiet about their “little experiment.” It’s enough to make a person long for the eight dozen alley cats yowling outside Charlie’s place.

“Ah yeah, that's it,” Frank grunts, entirely unbothered by Mac's whining. He’s sweating profusely and gyrating with a surprising level of coordination for a man of his size and inebriation, and grinning like he’s just stolen Christmas presents from a roomful of orphans. Dear God, is he eating a sandwich? “This is top tier shit! All the banging and none of the paying,” he enthuses, bread crumbs spraying from his mouth as he does.

How much did they have to drink again? The last clear memory Dee can conjure is getting kicked out of the strip club for something doll-Dennis had said to one of the dancers, but regardless, she decides that the answer to all of her problems is definitely more alcohol. Dee passes the disgusting display of sex and depravity on her way to the kitchen with barely a second glance, determined to drown this fever dream of a night with another beer. Or three. Whatever it takes. Where the shit did Charlie go?

Dee settles back into her chair and indulges one motherfucker of a gulp just as Charlie returns with a can of paint and takes his place at the front of the Dennis doll. Mac seems to have adjusted to Frank’s blistering pace; he’s red-faced and fisting his dick with one hand while his other grips the rug, and Frank is slapping the doll’s ass with the remains of his hoagie. Lovely.

It’s a bizarre sight: three grown-ass men writhing and moaning and making something that would never, ever be mistaken for love with the lifeless effigy of one Dennis fucking Reynolds. Every jarring thwack of skin slapping rubber slapping skin makes Dee slip a little further from herself, even as she grips her slick beer bottle so hard it’s in danger of shattering.

 _This is my life. This is my goddamn life?_ That’s what she should be thinking. And yet, the only revulsion Dee can muster at her present situation is, _oh God, they're gonna get spunk all over the floor, and I’m not cleaning that shit up._ There’s a line, goddammit, and this is it. Frank can pay to bring in a fucking bang maid.

Maybe Dennis was right to make a break for it. There’s nothing for any of them here. Just an endless cycle of unsuccessful schemes and outlandish exploits to distract them from just how sad their lives are. It’s a goddamn miracle one of them managed to escape at all.

“Ah, we’re spitroasting him, Charlie!” Frank cackles. “I always wanted to spitroast a broad, but hell, this works just fine too!”

Fuck Dennis for not taking her with him.

When they were kids – nine years old and tired of hearing their parents argue for the millionth goddamn time – they used to talk about getting out. Dennis the vet and Dee the actress, living together in their huge mansion with giant security guards that could keep all the peons (and especially their parents) far fucking away. Funny, she can’t remember when they started hating each other as much as they loved each other. Dee tips the bottle towards her lips. Good shit.

“Dee, Dee, hey Dee,” Charlie whines, his chant broken only by a telltale _hiss-snort_ as he takes a hit from the aerosol can.

She glances up as his chatter finally drills through her musings about failed dreams – the only thing shielding her from the horrors of the grotesque burlesque taking place in her living room – but it’s doll-Dennis she’s looking at, his lifelike eyes never leaving her even as Charlie’s thick cock fills its gaping mouth.

Jesus Christ. That thing looks like Rickety Cricket after a rough night of getting passed around outside the back of a Waffle Hut. Its hair is disheveled, its clothes are completely gone, and its gaze looks like that of a man who’s seen far too much shit in his short life, and kinda liked it. Of course Dennis would enjoy this; all the attention would be on him.

_“Like you wouldn’t feel the same, you hypocritical bitch.”_

Oh, good. She’s hearing the doll again. Dee takes another swig of her beer, but she doesn’t look away. It’s a fucking car wreck, a blur a shapes and colors and sounds, but goddamn she doesn’t know how to escape it.

 _This is your fault,_ she thinks, glaring at dopple-Dennis as it’s bounced between her friends’ genitals like a ragdoll. A very disgusting ragdoll. From the looks of things, it’s about thirty seconds away from taking another load to the face. The image of Dennis choking on a mouthful of Charlie’s dark pubes and slick cock is not one she’ll be able to scrub anytime soon. _We were gonna get out together, you son of a bitch._

It’s so selfish of him to run out on her – on all of them. But it’s altogether typical. Dennis is a horror-flick monster, haunting them and toying with them and waiting for the day he can pick them off, one by one. He’s the thing holding them back, making them all just a little bit crazier every goddamn day. Even now, when he’s not even fucking here, he’s _here,_ and goddammit it isn’t fair. Maybe Cindy’s right. If they could just get the fuck away from him – get rid of his influence once and for all – maybe they’d all be able to make it-

_“You’re too old for those dreams now, Dee. You were too old ten years ago. And too tall, and too flat, and too bird-”_

The insults continue as the orgy builds towards its sticky, substance-fueled climax, until Dee can hear nothing but groans and howls and – cutting through it all like a switchblade gutting a fish – Dennis.

“Ahhhhhhhhlright, that's enough out of you, asshole!” Dee springs from her chair and lunges at faux-Dennis, sending Frank, Mac and Charlie scrambling away from the doll like cockroaches fleeing the light. She cracks her beer bottle open on the edge of the coffee table and uses the jagged remains to stab the doll in the gut, in the chest – in its glistening dick for good measure. Stabs him like she's ridding herself of all the negativity and cruelty fucking up her life. Purge the evil. Save everyone. _Fuck you, Dennis. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you._

It feels goddamn revelatory.

Between the booze and the delirium and the sublime catharsis that can only come from assaulting a sex doll made in your brother’s likeness half a dozen times, Dee finally feels like she may black out. But when the nausea lifts, for a fraction of a second, she straightens herself up and stumbles past the stunned assholes (still shielding their dicks) to shut her bedroom door and collapse onto the bed.

She doesn’t know if they manage to finish, and she doesn’t care.

It’s the soundest sleep Dee’s had in four months.

**Author's Note:**

> Lol, ya know for an orgy this is the least amount of fucking I’ve written in a fic.
> 
> Come and yell at me: [riddlelvr.tumblr.com](http://riddlelvr.tumblr.com)


End file.
